


The Follow-Up

by loversandantiheroes



Series: Case History [2]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body image problems, F/M, Masturbation, Office Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, a small amount of feelings and fluff, but mostly that first thing, slightly more fluff than previously advertised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loversandantiheroes/pseuds/loversandantiheroes
Summary: Harvey wants a little clarification.  You really just want Harvey.  A sequel to Practical Demonstration.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really wasn't expecting to write more of this, but somehow that's how this sort of thing always happens. Many thanks to you lovely people who have been throwing kind comments and kudos at the first fic.

Maru doesn’t look too much the worse for wear the next morning when you make your way to the clinic, but she’s thankful all the same for the coffee and slightly greasy breakfast sandwich you set on the front desk.

“You are a god amongst mortals,” she says with a sigh, gulping down half the coffee in one go and setting to work immediately on the sandwich.

“Considering I’m at least eighty percent to blame for your hangover, you can pass on the praise,” you say, laughing.  "Did your feet survive Shane's dancing?"

"Heh.  Barely.  I've got a wicked bruise on my right foot.  Maybe next time I'll try to show him how to soft shoe instead."

"Have you considered a less hazardous endeavor?  A nice fusion of white water rafting and open heart surgery, maybe?"

Maru snorts, covering her mouth to try and keep her breakfast in place.

"How’s the Doc?”

“Surprisingly good,” Maru says around a mouthful of egg and bacon and buttered toast.  “I guess he doesn’t really get hangovers. Must be nice. You can go on back if you like, there’s no appointments on the books today, it’s just paperwork.”  She spreads her hands at the stack of file folders in front of her. “Look upon my workload, ye mighty, and despair.”

“Too much despair," you say, shaking your head distastefully.  "Kindly put some back.  Clearly you just need to invent a gizmo to do the paperwork for you.”

She chuckles, shaking her head.  “Yoba, don’t tempt me.”

The hallway to Harvey's office is short.  You don’t even get a chance to knock on the door before you hear him call out, “Come in.”  A similar stack of file folders sits atop his desk, and he peers at you over the top of it. He is, you note with more than a little delight, already blushing.

“Expecting me?”

He makes a face: equal parts grumpy, flustered, and deeply pleased.  “I heard you coming,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows a little, chewing on the inside of your cheeks to try and stop from smiling.  A valiant but rather futile effort.  One day the man will manage to not trip into a double entendre, but apparently today is not that day.

Harvey stammers, flushing a brilliant red, and rakes a nervous hand through his hair.  “I didn't... I didn't mean....  You’re _terrible,”_ he says finally.

“Yes, but I bring _gifts_ ,” you say, setting the coffee and sandwich next to him with a ridiculous little flourish.  “So hopefully it all balances out.”

He regards you a moment, fiddling with his fountain pen.  “I wasn’t sure you... after last night... I…” He sighs, rubbing at his eyes.  “It’s been quite awhile. I didn’t know what to expect.  I didn't think I'd see you today.”

You look him over, trying to puzzle out the look on his face.  Anxiety is not exactly a new look for Harvey, but you’ve never seen it so bound up in something so clearly personal before.

“You don’t regret it, do you?” you ask.

He looks up at you, eyes sharp and brow knotted.  “Do you?”

_Ah._

“No.  Not even a little.”  You smile, leaning your hip against the desk.  “The only thing I regret is that it didn’t happen sooner.”

“I... oh.”  He’s silent for a long beat, blinking up at you.  And then he laughs, a bright and bashful smile breaking across his face.  “M-me too.”

“Well.  Should make up for lost time, then.”

His eyes go wide and startled as you stoop down, taking his face in your hands, and kiss him.  And he _melts._  Completely.  The hands he puts on your shoulders are heavy but gentle, drawing you down almost by accident, and you drop smoothly down on one knee.  It’s almost jarring how gentle he is for his size - well over six feet tall and broad-shouldered, he’s built more like a linebacker than anything else, but everything about him is soft.

Well.   _Almost_ everything.

He breaks away, trying to catch his breath between muttered apologies and scooting the rolling chair awkwardly away.  “It’s been a _really_ long time,” he says.  “I may be a little over-eager.  You-”

The rest is lost to a sharp gasp as you run a single finger down the growing length in his trousers.

“No need to apologize,” you mumble, stroking him lightly.  "I'm not exactly complaining."

Harvey, for his part, is barely breathing.  “Y-you...I... _oh_...w-we shouldn’t…”

“Why not?”

He gives a delightful hiss as you squeeze him, growing harder by the second.

“Maru is right down the hall,” he whispers sharply.

You smile, stroking a little more insistently.  “You want me to stop?”

His breath catches, hips tilting up toward your hand.  “No.  _Please_ don't.”

“You’d better keep quiet then.”

A small sound escapes him, low and choked. 

Then: “Wait.”

It almost pains you to do it. But you still your hand.  And you wait.

“Is…” he frowns, anxiety creasing the inner corners of his eyes.  “Is this... _all_ you want?  I mean if it is, that, that’s fine," he adds in a quiet rush.  "I'm more than happy to... I mean... with you... but I want... I _need_ to know what you want.  From me.  _With_ me.”

For a moment you're not sure how to answer.  In all honesty, you hadn't really thought that far ahead yet.  You've thought about  _him_ , of what you've wanted to do to him, what you wanted him to do to you.  But beyond that...  Your own expression softens, and your fingers trace the side of his face.  ”No,” you tell him. “I want this.  But I think I want more than just this.  Is that alright?”

There is another long pause, and then that smile returns, bright and lovely.  And this time he’s the one that kisses you.

So maybe it is alright after all.

The buckle of his belt jingles only a little as you work it open, a whisper of a zipper, and then the sweetness of a gasp as you wrap your fingers around his cock.  He's just about as long as your hand from wrist to fingertip, and you lose yourself for a bit, preoccupied with the feel of him, hard and hot and velvet soft.  And then he thrusts up eagerly into your hand, all impulse and no control, and you have to wonder just how long it _has_ been for him.  You remember the taste of him, all too brief from the night before, and at once you make your decision of just what you want to do.

After all, you’re already on your knees.

You watch his face as you shift down lower.  The look of surprise is nearly comical, save for the edge of excitement in his eyes and the way he bites his lip when you take him into your mouth.  He captures one of your hands, winding his fingers with yours and pressing your palm to his lips and holding it there. He sighs and your skin pricks up in goosebumps at the feel of his breath. He moans, so soft you can barely hear it, but you feel the vibration of it against your palm.

A quiet blowjob is perhaps not the easiest endeavor, but you're the determined sort.  And it's worth it.  Pleasure looks good on him.  He's slumped down, back pressed hard into the chair, hips tipped forward, eyes tracking you hungrily as you move.  He shudders - _hard_ \- the first taste of salt on your tongue, whispering half-obscene encouragements.  Telling you how good you feel.  How good you look.  How badly he's wanted this -  _you_ \- for so long now.  How it's so much better than he thought it would be.

Good.  So good.  Deeper.  Harder.   _Oh._   _There_.  Oh right  _there, there, please...._

And then his eyes go wide at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

_"Shit."_

There isn’t even a presentable closet in the room, and so you settle for what is possibly the most comically cliche hiding place, backing yourself into the knee hole under his desk as he scoots in close, trying desperately to arrange himself back into some semblance of decency.

A knock.

“Doctor Harvey?”

“Yes?  What is it?”

You hear the door crack, hinges squeaking.  “Marnie called, she wanted to know if she could shift her appointment back to next Thursday?”

“Uh…”  There’s a sound of mild panic and paper ruffling.  “I’ve uhm...I've got an appointment over in Grampleton that day, but as long as she can come in before 2pm, that should be fine.”  To Harvey’s credit, his voice is surprisingly steady. Especially given the view from your perspective, crammed in between his knees, his still-hard cock wavering barely an inch in front of your face, a single droplet of precome dripping slowly down the underside.

“Alright, I’ll set that up.  Hey, I thought the farmer was back here?”

Harvey goes alarmingly still.  “Oh, she’s upstairs. Still a little hungover, I told her she could use the couch.  Probably best to let her rest a bit.”

“Oh, right,” Maru says, pitching her voice a little lower.

You run your tongue out, the temptation a little too much, lapping up the little droplet before it has the chance to stain his trousers.  He jerks, nearly kneeing you in the face. “Sorry,” he mutters, coughing harshly. “Legs are a little restless today. If there’s nothing else, I really do need to get back to this paperwork.”

“Oh, yeah, no, that was all.  I’ll get the new schedule posted.”

“Thank you, Maru.”

“Actually, I might run over to the Saloon first, get another round of coffee in.  Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

“If Gus has any of those apple danishes left, I might grab a few those, too.  Those were _good_.  Okay, I’ll be back in like...ten minutes?”

The door creaks, closes, Maru’s footsteps growing distant, and then the sound of the front door opening and closing.  Harvey lets out a sharp sigh.

“You are-”

You don’t let him finish.  Your fingers grip his thighs as you pull him back into your mouth.  He yelps, a sharp, startled cry that falls utterly apart as you moan greedily around him.  This position is frankly awful, your head nearly knocking against the center drawer, your legs pinned under you.  And yet the tension in his thighs and the muffled sharpness of his breathing is too good for you to want to stop just yet.

“Oh.  Fuck,” Harvey whimpers.  “Fuck, fuck, _fuck.”_  He tries to thrust up toward you, but the position affords him no leverage, and all he can do is roll back and forth a few inches, grinding the head of his cock against the flat of your tongue.

He pulls back on the cusp of his orgasm, rolling away and leaving your mouth with a soft, sudden pop.  “You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he pants as you crawl out from under the desk, grinning up at him. His hand wraps instinctively around his cock, pumping slowly.

“Not at all,” you say, watching his hand with rapt interest.  “But I have every intention of finishing you.”

He groans low and quiet, jaw flexing, and presses his cock down toward you with his thumb.

“Hurry,” he says, and there’s a pleading edge to his voice that nearly makes your mouth water.

He guides your head down and this time you set to work like you mean it.  You feel him catch more than once on your teeth, but it doesn’t seem to deter him in the slightest.  He’s moaning incessantly, long beats of held breath between explosive exhalations and ragged gasps.  He cries out, bucking so hard as he comes that you have to hang onto him to keep him from shoving himself away on the rolling chair by accident.

_"Don't stop,"_ he moans, shaking through his spasm.

You don't.  Not until he stops shaking, until he slumps into the chair in a boneless heap, do you stop.  You just barely swallow him down before he’s pulling you up and into a breathless kiss.

“Upstairs,” he says, panting.  “Give me half an hour, maybe less.  I’ll close up early.  I promise I'll take care of you.”

You smile, nodding, and help him with his clothes until he again looks professional instead of debauched.  “Half an hour,” you repeat, kissing the corner of his mouth.  “Don’t be late, or I just might have to start without you.”

"Can't have that, can we?" he says with a lopsided grin, watching as you disappear around the corner.


	2. Chapter 2

You’ve been in Harvey’s apartment before - a few conversations over coffee, mostly - but you’ve never been up here alone.  It’s quiet, so well-insulated it feels like a wood-paneled bubble. The sounds from the street outside are distant and muffled.  The blinds are up on the window near his desk, the light streaming in pale and strangely thin. The weather station has been calling for heavy rain all week, now it seems you might actually get it.  The clouds to the north, above the ramshackle remains of the community center are high and light, but darker, heavier clouds are crowding in from the west, throwing the diffused sunlight into strange perspective.  The wind begins to pick up, not much, but enough that you think Harvey won’t have too much difficulty convincing Maru to knock off for the day.

There’s a distant rumble, and then first raindrops splatter against the window.  It’s eerie, but somehow cozy. You find yourself making a slow circuit around the place, listening to the rain and taking in your surroundings, curiosity getting the better of you.  The shelves above the desk are home to dozens of model airplanes, each meticulously painted. There’s another in progress on the desk, assembled but unsanded and unpainted, the smell of glue still strong enough to suggest it’s not quite dry enough to work with yet.  There is a tall bookcase between the desk and Harvey’s single bed, each shelf tightly packed. At first glance it appears to be mostly medical books - he’s got at least two editions of the Physician’s Desk Reference in plain view, and you think you can see a third older edition propping the kitchen door open.  Further down it turns to aviation history, along with an odd mix of serial mysteries and what looks suspiciously like a few pulpy romance novels.

His bed holds your attention for a little longer than it maybe should, a vivid image springing to mind of the good doctor laid out across it, stroking himself furiously with oil-slicked hands.

_I promise, I’ll take care of you_.

A pleasant shiver runs through you as you consider all the ways he could make good on that promise.

In the end you settle for sneaking one of the trashier-looking novels from the shelf and attempting to relax a little, squirreling your boots away under the coffee table and curling up on the couch.  Unfortunately your attention is too divided to pay much attention to the book. There’s an old clock mounted to the wall above the kitchen door, and you swear the ticking of it only slows as the minutes drag on. Every other sound downstairs gives you a little jolt of nervous anticipation.  A flutter in your stomach, a warm rush to remind you of just how much you’d enjoyed bringing him off and just how ready you are for him to return the favor.

You try to wait.  But after forty-five minutes you can’t wait any longer, tossing the book aside and unceremoniously working a hand into your jeans.

It is a minor miracle you haven’t soaked straight through them by now.

Slow, though.  A tease. Something to hold you over, that’s all.  The taste of him still lingers on your tongue, and the sounds he made are far too fresh in your mind.  It’s bare minutes before you’re digging your heels into the arm of the couch, biting on your fingers to keep quiet, just in case Maru hasn’t gone yet.

Footsteps on the stairs.  You jump a little, but they’re too heavy to be Maru.

Harvey calls your name as the door opens, already apologizing.  He actually stumbles a bit, feet still trying to catch up to the rest of him as he takes in the sight of you on his couch, blouse half-unbuttoned, hand working restlessly beneath your jeans.

“Oh.”

He is utterly frozen, one hand on the door, the other halfway through the motion of smoothing down his tie.  It’s more than a little funny, given everything that’s happened in the past day, that it’s the sight of you fiddling with yourself on his couch that seems to have finally shorted the good doctor out entirely.

“Thought you’d never get here,” you sigh.

“Sorry to be late to the party,” he says.  “If it wasn’t for the weather, I’m not sure I could’ve gotten Maru to leave.  You...Yoba, that is _lovely._  I wish I had a camera.”

You laugh a little, working the rest of the buttons on your blouse open.  “You’ve got a phone, don’t you?”

He scoffs, the laughter finally cutting through his trance, and closes the door behind him.  “I have a small brick with moderate cell reception. You honestly think that thing takes photos?”

“Touche.”

That intense look is back on his face, eyes fixed on you as he shrugs off his jacket and pulls off his tie.  “Take those off,” he says, gesturing at your jeans. He’s trying for authority, but he can’t quite get enough air to give the words any real force.  

Not that it matters, really.  You are all too happy to oblige, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and shoving them down until you can kick them off.  Your hand returns to its place between your legs, rubbing yourself idly through your panties. You hadn’t exactly planned on this outcome today, even if you had allowed yourself a little room to hope, and you spare a moment to regret not choosing a more interesting pair.

Harvey does not seem to share that particular concern.  “Those as well,” he says a little breathlessly, leaning back against the door.  The front of his slacks are beginning to look rather tight. “I want to see.”

“So spoiled.  Expecting me to unwrap your presents for you.”

One hand ghosts across his groin, squeezing.  “Please.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

He groans appreciatively as you slide them off and let your legs part.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves as your fingers return to their work.

“Anything.  Everything. For the love of fuck, just _get over here, please_.”

Harvey does not need to be asked twice.  

“I want to hear you this time,” he says, voice thick and low, a timbre that goes straight through you.  He settles between your knees, batting your hands away and replacing them with his mouth.

He _is_ better with his hands, it’s true, but it almost seems an unfair comparison.  Besides, there is something to be said for enthusiasm and attentiveness, and Harvey is not lacking in either.  He shifts a little with every moan, almost inquisitively, and part of you thinks he’d actually stop to take notes if he could.  Not that you’d let him. Your fingers are tightly wound in his hair, pulling him so close you can feel the frames of his glasses digging into your pelvis.

The shakes start long before you’re anywhere close to coming.  “Faster,” you gasp out, body jack-knifing. “More.”

And the bastard has the gall to _slow down_.

You whine, petulant, ready to chastise him for teasing, and then his fingers slip into you with a practiced ease.  His fingers crook up, the flat of his other hand a warm pressure low on your abdomen, and the ability to speak leaves you entirely.  You hook one leg over the back of the couch, spreading yourself wider, pressing harder against the clasping pressure of his hands and the unhurried circling of his tongue.   You wonder if this is what he’d wanted last night, pressing you up against a wall with a regretful apology that he couldn’t take it slow.

_“Please,”_ you hiss, not even sure what you’re begging for.   _“Please oh please oh please.”_

“There you are,” he mutters against you as you gasp and squirm.  “There’s a good girl.”

You’ve never been more aware of your approach to an orgasm before.  You can feel it in the thrumming of your muscles, like the rumble of an oncoming train.  He can feel it, too. You look down to catch those pretty green eyes gazing raptly up at you over fogged glasses.  He grins against you, pleased to catch you watching, and flattens his tongue against your clit. His fingers dive deeper, pressing and massaging as if trying to loosen a knot.  

You make a sound like you’ve been struck, orgasm hitting you with enough force that you haven’t got the air to cry out.  You fold up, shuddering and gasping, and finally loose a long, low groan like a sob.

Harvey wraps around you as you lay there shaking, holding you as you ride out the last of the spasms.  He is warm and solid and more than a little soft around the middle. The weight of him is wonderful, heavy but not crushing, a comforting pressure.  You resolve to tell him so when you can remember how to talk again. In the meantime you wrap your arms around his neck and press kisses against the shelf of his jaw and the soft skin underneath, and enjoy the feeling of being held.

Something at his hip crinkles as he shifts over you.  Something in his pocket.

“D-do you-” he falls to stuttering, at a sudden loss now with you beneath him.  He rocks forward a little, the trapped warmth of his erection pressing against your thigh.  “We don’t have to...I’ve already...b-but if you wanted to.”

You laugh a little and kiss him, giggling into his mouth.  You can’t help it, the endorphin buzz has left you giddy as hell.  You kiss him again, rocking your hips up to meet his. It wouldn’t do for him to get the wrong idea about your laughter.

“I want you in me,” you manage at last.

Half of his body goes rigidly tense.  The other half just seems to melt.

“The bed,” he says, sitting up and pulling you with him.  “In my bed.”

Harvey keeps you steady on the short, stumbling walk.  Somewhere on the way your blouse and bra hit the floor.  When you reach for the front of his shirt, working the buttons lose, Harvey freezes.  He glances at you and then away, not flushed now but pale, anxiety given way to something that looks more like mortal terror.

You stop, laying your hands flat against his chest.  “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

He is an awful liar.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!  No, it’s just...I’m.  I’m not much to look at.”

“Harvey.”

“No, I’m not saying that to try and get you to tell me different.  I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Nothing about you is disappointing.”

He gives a strained little smile, grateful for what he has taken as a well-intentioned lie.

“I want to touch you.   _All_ of you.  But only if you’re comfortable with that.”

“I want you to touch me,” he sighs.  “You have no idea how much.”

You move forward a little and his breath hitches.

“I can guess.”

“I’m just afraid that you...you won’t-”

“You don’t have to be afraid.  I’m right where I want to be.”

“Alright.”

And so you pull him down against you and kiss him, letting your hands roam over him slowly until you feel some of that tension start to unwind again.  You slide your fingers under the buttons of his shirt and through the curl of hair beneath, scratching lightly against his skin. He’s shaking more than a little as the shirt falls away.  He is broad and pale, dusted with freckles and dark curling hair. The beginnings of a pot belly pooch out over his belt, and he tries desperately to suck it in, hoping you won’t notice. As if this were an inspection rather than foreplay.

“Come here.”

You wrap your arms around him, sighing at the feel of warm skin on warm skin.  He shifts by inches, like a glacier melting, until one hand warms the skin of your back and the other cradles the back of your neck.

“Lovely,” you mutter, trailing kisses across his chest, scraping your teeth gently over one of his nipples just to hear him gasp.  

“P-point made,” he stutters.

“Are you sure?” you ask innocently before fastening your lips around the rising flesh and sucking.

_“Ungh-_ sweet f...the bed, please, get on the bed.”

That crinkling sound comes again as he produces a handful of small, flat, foil-wrapped packages from his pocket and tosses them on the quilt.  Condoms. A rather varied assortment of them.

“Either you’ve over-prepared, or I hope you’ve got trail rations and mineral water on hand, too,” you say, giggling.

“I didn’t know if you had a preference,” he admits with a little shrug as his pants hit the floor.  “Or an allergy.”

“Not really, no.  You?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully, selects one, and sweeps the rest into the top drawer of the nightstand.

You help him, partly for the sake of his nerves and partly just to touch him.  He’s a little less anxious with every touch, a little more relaxed, and it’s wonderful to watch pleasure slowly override his apprehension.

The bed creaks as you both settle into it.  Harvey pauses. You can feel him against you, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

“Yes?”  He holds his breath, brow knotting, waiting for you to change your mind.

You wind your fingers in his hair.  “Yes.”

He pushes forward, you tilt up, and he slides into you with remarkable ease.  It feels wonderful, but more than that it feels like _relief_ , like the release of tension you hadn’t even known you were holding.  Harvey buries his face in your neck, moaning, and begins to move.

The rain has picked up outside, pounding against the window in sheets.  It’s calming, as soothing and sweet as the slow, rocking pace Harvey eases into.  If it weren’t for the friction that curls your toes, you could almost drowse like this.

“Oh that’s lovely,” you breathe, playing with his hair.  In and out like a slow, deep breath. Back and forth. Your knees draw up, heels digging into his back.

A long sigh escapes him.  “You feel-”

“You, too,” you mutter.

He hums, and sets to suckling at your breasts.  You jerk and shiver, wriggling up to invite him deeper.  His arms hook under your knees, lifting them up and onto his shoulders, and when he rocks forward this time, seated to the hilt, you both groan.

The muscles in the backs of your legs protest the position, a promise of soreness tomorrow that you can’t quite convince yourself to care about right now.  You flex and stretch as best you can, pulling yourself up, inadvertently squeezing so tightly on the outstroke that Harvey shudders and loses his rhythm entirely.

_“Fuck.”_

“Don’t stop.”  You grapple for his hips, pulling him back into you.  “Don’t you dare stop.”

He laughs, moans, and swears all in the same breath, fighting to find a rhythm again.  You coax him into one, faster and deeper than before, and let out a startled gasp as he bites down unexpectedly on the curve of your calf.  He apologizes instantly, a mournful babble between breathless moans, pressing kisses to the crescent-shaped marks he’s left in your skin.

He pulls out of you abruptly, tugging at your hips.  “Turn over. Now.”

You roll over, and before you have a chance to question or tease him he’s pushing back into you, straddling your hips, the head of his cock easily finding that same spot his fingers had so delighted in unraveling earlier.  You scrabble at the bedclothes, clutching and twisting, trying and failing to push back and press him in harder.

Harvey stills, hands on your back, mistaking your reaction for genuine distress.

_“Yes!”_ you cry, even before he has a chance to ask.  You try again to buck your hips up towards him, this time with more success, growling into the quilt as you grind into him.  He takes the hint, thrusting forward experimentally, those fine hands holding your hips up just enough to maintain the angle you’re seeking.

_“Fuck me,”_ you growl through gritted teeth.  

Expletive or order, it doesn’t matter.  He obeys. He folds over your back, sweat-slick forehead against your shoulder, and fucks you.  Years worth of pent up desire and frustration focused on you, _in_ you, driving you forward into the bed, kicking and screaming.  Sweet, timid Harvey with his mild eyes and soft hands is somehow the same man muttering a string of utter obscenity in your ear as he pounds into you with a jarring force.  The dichotomy would be fascinating, if you had the ability to actually think about it right now.

This time when you come it’s like a depth charge, deep and radiating.  Your shout is lost, muffled by the bed, and just as well. You don’t feel particularly inclined to explain to Pierre - or any of his customers - why you were screaming like a rabid animal from the good doctor’s bedroom.

“Too much,” he groans as you shake beneath him.  “Fuck, it’s too much...I...I’m-”

He pushes in and in until his hips are flush against you, pressed so close you can feel it when his balls draw up tight.  You can  _feel_ him coming, a pulsation strong enough to make you shiver.  His arms slip around you, clutching you to him.  One hand on your hip, the other roughly groping blindly at your breast, panting and rocking as he rides out his own orgasm.  You wish you could see his face, but the sounds he makes and the feel of him against you - inside you - just about makes up for it.

It’s only a disappointment when he slips out of you.  You whine a little, face down in the quilt, as you hear him dispose of the condom.

He sits at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, trying to catch his breath.  He pulls his glasses off and sets them on the side table, rubbing the sweat out of his eyes.

You roll, back to the wall, and stroke gently along his spine.  “No fair, you. Come back here.”

The bed is almost too small to fit you both.  The wall is cold against your back as you scoot over to make room.  Harvey is flushed almost down to his navel, hair a damp mat of dark curls, eyes unfocused.  There’s uncertainty in his face again as he lies next to you, and it’s not until you grab him unceremoniously by the ass and pull him close for a kiss that he breaks into a cautious smile.

“This bed isn’t quite equipped for this,” he says by way of apology, half-rolling onto you in an effort not to fall off.

“We could use mine next time,” you offer.  “I’ve got a queen size at the farmhouse. I don’t think you’ve seen the place since I took it over, have you?  I should give you a tour.”

He blinks at you.  “You still...you still want…”

“Yeah.  I do.”

His smile widens.  “I’m not sure what to say,” he mutters.

“Well.  ‘Yes’ would be a good place to start, if you’re interested.”

He kisses you, sweetly but awkwardly.  He can't stop grinning.  “Yes, absolutely, yes.”


End file.
